"Escape... escape... escape... by God!"' was his constant exhortation. "Never mind hunger pains, discomfort, or any other agony. Let escape become your passion, your one and only obsession until you finally reach home."' Shot down over Berlin in 1941, Richard Pape's saga of captivity is a story of courage unmatched in the annals of escape. Four escapes took him across the breadth of German-occupied Europe; to Poland and Czechoslovakia; to Austria and Hungary. Aggressive and impetuous, his adventures sweep the reader along on a torrent of excitement.

This candid WWI memoir takes readers inside the cockpit with an RAF officer on the Western Front from the outbreak the Great War until its end in 1918. Louis Arbon Strange was at the Royal Air Force’s Central Flying School when war broke out in 1914. He immediately reported to Royal Flying Corps headquarters and joined No. 5 Squadron. Strange remained on active duty throughout the war, serving his country over the Western Front from August of that year until the enemy’s surrender. Strange transferred to No. 6 Squadron in 1915 and went on to form and command No. 23 Squadron. Due to illness, he did not accompany his squadron to France, but spent that time training others. He took charge of the Machine-Gun School at Hythe and other schools of aerial gunnery before returning to the Front. There he commanded the 23rd Wing and finally took command of the 80th Wing from June 1918 until the end of the war. As Strange chronicles his experiences, he provides unique insight into how and why the Allied airmen eventually prevailed.

A rip-roaring gallop through the lives of the Royal Flying Corps air crew in the Great War. They lived their lives amidst a strange dichotomy as they moved from safety to dire danger, and back again in a matter of hours. This created a dreadful strain that could soon shred anyone’s mental health. On the ground they were cloistered in simple but adequate accommodation several miles behind the lines. Farmhouses, barns and huts were used, but they were all far better than the squalor faced by the infantry scurrying in their muddy trenches. Flying personnel were blessed with beds and blankets. They could set up a decent mess and socialise to their heart’s content. A smorgasbord of entertainments, with perhaps an old out of tune piano, access to drink and occasional vigorous games of mess rugby. There were visits to local towns which offered tantalizing glimpses – and sometimes more - of the female of the species. A glimpse was probably never enough for most of these very young men. What more could a chap want? But when they were flying over the front it was no laughing matter. Death lurked in the skies, zooming in its ‘winged chariots’ out of the sun, or bursting from the clouds. A moment’s loss of concentration, or tactical blunder, could consign them to being shot down and falling thousands of feet until the crunching impact of terra firma brought a terrible relief. But better that than a punctured petrol tank, the first flickers of flame, then the roaring inferno and the agonies of incineration. There was little or nothing for them to laugh about in the air. But when back on the ground they tried to put aside their fears.

Captain Harry Butler, AFC, was a national hero in the early 1920s. Hailed as a top aviator, his legacy continues to this day, yet he has been largely forgotten. Harry Butler returned from war with two aircraft and dreams of starting an industry. With his little crimson monoplane, Red Devil, Captain Butler inspired many thousands as he performed aerial shows in support of Peace Loan efforts. He made the first airmail crossing over a significant body of water in the Southern Hemisphere; established, with the famous engineer Harry Kauper, the first passenger flight business in South Australia; took the first aerial photographs; and set up what became the first Commonwealth Government airport in Adelaide. From Butler's childhood in the tiny farming community of Minlaton, where he was inspired by stories of early flight experimentation, to his role as a senior flight instructor in the Royal Flying Corps in England and his postwar experiences, The Red Devil tells the story of a pivotal figure in early aviation in Australia and, through his pilot training role, throughout the world.

Five days after the outbreak of World War I in the summer of 1914, American Kiffin Rockwell was on a ship headed for France. The United States would not join the war for nearly three years, but Rockwell believed it was time to fight. He joined the elite French Foreign Legion and was soon fighting in the trenches of the Western Front. A combat wound in 1915 rendered him unfit to fight on the ground, so Rockwell volunteered to fight in the air, becoming a charter member of the soon-to-be legendary Lafayette Escadrille, a fighter squadron of volunteer American pilots. In May 1916, Rockwell became the first pilot to score a victory for the new unit when he shot down a German plane. He was wounded in the skies over Verdun but refused hospitalization, insisting on remaining in the air. He flew more missions with the Lafayette Escadrille than any other pilot until his death in aerial combat in September 1916. First to Fight is a high-octane drama of a remarkable soldier and pilot who fought in the trenches and in the skies during World War I. It is the story of one of the first American fighter pilots at the dawn of aerial combat, the era of the Red Baron, with dogfighting biplanes high above the trench lines. But more than a World War I story, more than an aviation story, this is the story of an idealist who volunteered—long before his country drafted its first soldier—to fight, and ultimately die, in defense of civilization.

A dramatic and fascinating account of aerial combat during World War I, revealing the terrible risks taken by the men who fought and died in the world's first war in the air. Little more than ten years after the first powered flight, aircraft were pressed into service in World War I. Nearly forgotten in the war's massive overall death toll, some 50,000 aircrew would die in the combatant nations' fledgling air forces. The romance of aviation had a remarkable grip on the public imagination, propaganda focusing on gallant air 'aces' who become national heroes. The reality was horribly different. Marked for Death debunks popular myth to explore the brutal truths of wartime aviation: of flimsy planes and unprotected pilots; of burning nineteen-year-olds falling screaming to their deaths; of pilots blinded by the entrails of their observers. James Hamilton-Paterson also reveals how four years of war produced profound changes both in the aircraft themselves and in military attitudes and strategy. By 1918 it was widely accepted that domination of the air above the battlefield was crucial to military success, a realization that would change the nature of warfare forever.

This is a long-overdue study of Sir Frederick H. Sykes, Chief of the Air Staff of Britain's Royal Air Force (RAF) during the First World War. Historians, for the most part, have either overlooked Sykes or misinterpreted him, leaving a gap in the story of British flying. Contrary to previous images of Sykes, we now see that he was not a secretive intriguer or a tangential subject in RAF history. Rather, he played a fundamental part in organizing and leading British aviation from 1912 to the end of 1918. He provided organization, visionary guidance and efficient administrative control for the fledgling service that tried to survive infancy in the heat of battle.